


You've Got Something I Need

by renee_day



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Roller Coaster, Hurt/Comfort, I mean only once, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pining, but it's definitely abuse of the alcohols
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renee_day/pseuds/renee_day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tears spill freely as Phil stands up, running his hand through his hair over and over, a hand pressed over his mouth, not sure why his chest feels actually empty, why this is hitting him so hard tonight, as opposed to all the other nights he’s sat and watched over Dan. Why he feels like he’s losing it. He scratches at his face, his neck, right on the edge of violence, hating himself and the world – not Dan, not him –<br/>And then Dan whimpers again, and the urge to break something – maybe himself – passes, and Phil walks over to the door, muscle aches forgotten beside Dan’s dresser.<br/>“I love you, Dan,” Phil whispers, as he always does, ignoring the whispered 'coward' in the back of his head, because he’d never say it. This is, apparently, his life now, desperation and not-quite-enough and Phil will stay, because sometimes he can pretend. Like now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Something I Need

**Author's Note:**

> Fic based on Something I Need by OneRepublic.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKCGBgOgp08

                Dan is whimpering in his sleep again.

                Phil hadn’t noticed it the first few months they’d been roommates, but as his friend got more and more worried about college and deadlines and meaninglessness, Phil began to wake up in the early morning to little broken sounds echoing through the walls. But then Dan had quit going to Uni, and things got better, and Phil could stop worrying.

                Only now it's happening again, and though Phil knows it didn’t help Dan to be woken up – he’d figured that out after the first time he’d tried, and Dan’s face was tight with anger, and he’d said he didn’t want Phil’s pity, that he couldn’t even remember the dreams. Phil gets that – he really does – but listening to the pitiful sounds echoing through the flat is almost viscerally painful. Sitting up and swinging his legs to the side, Phil grabs his glasses and pushes up off the bed. His legs still ache from their jog earlier, but now that he’s up the effort involved in laying back down far exceeds that of slowly limping over to Dan’s door and pushing it open with his knuckles, careful to do it slowly enough the hinges don’t creak.

                Phil settles with some difficulty against the far wall, sliding down until he’s sitting. Dan’s face is cold and silver in the moonlight, eyes twitching as he lets out another little whimper that slides down Phil’s heart like ice. Sometimes he hummed, positing that calming sounds should help, but this isn’t even close to one of the worse nights, and Phil doesn’t want to wake him. Despite the nightmares, Dan’s a light sleeper, and explaining why he was hiding in the corner watching Dan would be … difficult.

                On the other side of Dan is one of Phil’s blankets he stole, and tossed on the dresser is the sweater he and Dan had bought together, shopping for a mutual friend’s birthday present, and Phil doesn’t know why, but these reminders of their closeness felt more like insults than comforts and Dan whimpers again, and Phil starts to cry.

                He shifts his knees out a bit, so his breathing will stay quiet, and Dan had never looked more beautiful than right now and Phil puts his head in his hands, trying to figure out when.

                Phil hadn’t been _in_ love with Dan when they’d moved in together, or even when they’d moved to London together. As a friend, of course, he’s always loved him - but not like this, not like he was getting hit in the chest every morning when he came out and Dan was curled loosely around Pikachu, not when a corner of his mouth turned up, when his eyes shine and he says “Bloody hell, Phil” to something Phil’s accidentally alluded to. Except Phil’s subconscious hadn’t informed Phil of this change until a week ago and _it was_ , it was literal hell loving Dan Howell and not being able to. Because they’d talked about it, of course – as all good roommates of compatible sexuality should, and Phil was nothing if not the best roommate. They’d agreed – they’d _always_ agreed – fuck.

                The problem is Phil needs Dan to physically painful levels, and Dan’s been going on dates and being a generally normal human being and not falling in love with the one person he damn well knows he shouldn’t. He’ll get to live and grow old and die beside Dan, but it isn’t _enough_ , it isn’t what he needs, the way he needs it - not even close.

                Tears spill freely as Phil stands up, running his hand through his hair over and over, a hand pressed over his mouth, not sure why his chest feels actually _empty_ , why this is hitting him so hard tonight, as opposed to all the other nights he’s sat and watched over Dan. Why he feels like he’s losing it. He scratches at his face, his neck, right on the edge of violence, hating himself and the world – not Dan, not him –

                And then Dan whimpers again, and the urge to break something – maybe himself – passes, and Phil walks over to the door, muscle aches forgotten beside Dan’s dresser.

                “I love you, Dan,” Phil whispers, as he always does, ignoring the whispered _coward_ in the back of his head, because he’d never say it. This is, apparently, his life now, desperation and not-quite-enough and Phil will stay, because sometimes he can pretend. Like now.

               

-*-

 

                He wakes late in the morning the next day, notes dancing off the walls as Dan practices piano. Because that’s what it is – even on the tiny little board Dan brought from Uni, his playing makes it most decidedly piano, not keyboard. He rolls over onto his back, not wanting to stop the music or have to talk with Dan. But, with their inability to coordinate a shopping schedule during this month with a big new project coming up, their empty fridge had yielded nothing but salad for dinner last night, and Phil is starving. He groans quietly and rolls off the bed.

                After a quick pit stop in the bathroom, (after which Phil definitely doesn’t smell Dan’s worn T-shirt, because he’s **not** that pathetic), he walks to the kitchen. Dan’s still practicing in the living room, and if he leans just the right way out the door he can see the curls of brown hair Dan has yet to straighten and flashes of curved shoulders, and Phil has to grip the counter to ground himself, because it’s not possible to be this in love, let alone this miserable.

                He grabs his Wheaties, throws them into a bowl with some milk, and heads towards the crescendoing notes, because if he feels like this already, being around Dan isn’t going to make it any worse.

                “Hey, Phil.” Dan’s hands separate, one staying to hold a pattern as the other flips the page. His eyes stay pointed forward, and Phil can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not, that he can’t see Dan’s eyes. “Not sure if you had any plans for the afternoon – I was thinking maybe a new dare vid, though honestly open to suggestion on that, still can’t eat Nutella – and later I have a thing with Mel.” The notes soften, and even though Phil knows it’s just so he can answer and Dan usually plays louder at this part, the softness complements the music, makes it haunting instead of angry.

                “Yeah, we should probably get a new video out for the – uh, Philligan’s Islands?” He has to bite his lip to keep from crying when Dan turns and flashes a blinding smile, and it is completely worth it.

 

-*-

 

                Dan’s left for his date – his third so far – with Mel, and Phil is editing the video and trying to resist the urge to just go to bed, shut out the world for a little bit. But then he reaches a point in the video where Dan’s leaning over his shoulder, and he can almost feel the warmth and Dan’s glance at him when he says something funny, so full of warmth and all the wrong kinds of love, and-

                “Fuck it.” He doesn’t want to be here, surrounded by reminders of Dan, but drinking away from home – at least the kind of drinking he’s just decided he’s going to do – sounds even less appealing. There’s a bottle of whisky, mostly full, from a recipe Dan tried, and some pumpkin-spice vodka left over from some get-together with Louise, and he takes both back to his room. He won’t drink all of it, but he’s desperate to forget and the variety means he can drink more, faster. He’s never done this before – drank a lot, or drank just to get drunk – but after a few shots of each he’s starting to see the appeal. The pain doesn’t leave, but it does get muffled, and Phil doesn’t know why he didn’t think of this earlier in the week. He puts the bottles over on his side table when he judges himself sufficiently intoxicated, knocking one off with a crash when he withdraws his hand. Though alcohol’s a sedative, he doesn’t feel sleepy – he’s done quite enough of that, trying to avoid his emotions and Dan and the world this week. So he stays sat up, staring blankly at the wall, spending hours blessedly numb, slowly sliding down, and then he is asleep, or perhaps he was already asleep because it seems like the dreams started a while ago.

 

-*-

 

                “Phil? Saw a light, thought you- Phil!” Phil wakes up to Dan yelling, and he’s still so drunk and all he can think of is the dream he had – Dan living, and dying, and Phil never met him, and-

“-this was a good idea? What’s wrong?” Dan looks close to tears, hands shaking white-knuckled around his coat. His shoulders are huddled, as if in pain, or bracing for it. “Please, Phil, I know something’s wrong, you just-“

                “I’m in love with you!” Phil’s shaking, shattering, and the words drag themselves out. “I love you, and it hurts so much, having you this close and not – can’t –“ He vaults over the broken bottle beside his bed, nausea rising, from nerves or pain or alcohol he can’t tell, as he stumbles to the bathroom. He locks the door besides him and vomits, tears coating his face as he hunches over the toilet, feeling small, the space around him too pristine, too empty. Echoic. He curls up in the shower after washing out his mouth, blessedly pocketed earbuds turned all the way up because he _can’t_ , can’t listen to whatever Dan is going to yell through the door any second. The yelling shows up, along with banging on the door. He sobs unexpectedly, loudly, and the yelling goes away after that. The ice of the granite absorbs the warmth of his skin as he lays down, and he doesn’t want to fall asleep, but it seeps in like the cold.

-*-

 

                Phil (very) vaguely remembers waking up and drinking water throughout the night, so when he wakes up without a headache, he’s not surprised, but he is relieved. A trudge over to the mirror reveals dark circles under his eyes, and his face seems a bit red from crying, but for some reason Phil can’t see the trauma of the last evening reflected in his eyes. He expected heartbreak, regret, sadness – all of the emotions he’s feeling. Instead, he looks the same as yesterday. He draws out the moment, searching for any sign of what happened, and Phil knows he’s only trying to distract himself from the impending confrontation, but he lets himself pretend a bit longer. As long as he’s in here, he doesn’t have to know what Dan thinks, whether he’s waiting to talk or in his room or already moving out, or a fourth entirely more scary option that Phil can’t define per se, but can definitely be afraid of.

                Phil feels his body start to tremble as he approaches the door, and by the time his hand is on the handle, he’s sweating and cold and his mouth’s dry and his chest’s tight, and even though he’s never had one before Phil’s wondering if he’s verging on a panic attack, and he opens the door and

 

-*-

 

Dan’s curled up right in front of the door – it’s impossible to open without hitting him, in fact – and asleep, in a nest of his blankets and Phil’s blanket. His eyes are red like he’s been crying, and Phil feels that ice in his chest again. He’s so _tired_ , and Dan’s right there, and Phil knows he’s trapped. So he scoots down against the door frame, arms wrapped around his knees, and nudges Dan. Then he puts his head down on his arms, still finely trembling, and waits.

                “Phil?” He starts shaking again, harder, breath rasping through his throat as the tears come, muscles tensed for whatever happens next. “Phil, c’mon, please- we- I-,” Dan’s throat sounds thick, and silence hangs for a second, and Phil wishes he could just ignore Dan, but he’s never been able to.

                So Phil looks up, and Dan is crying, and Phil’s chest hurts again because Dan has a watery smile on his face, and his eyes are gleaming, and he presses his eyes shut and pretends whatever Dan’s about to say won’t break his heart.

                “I realized weeks ago how I felt about you.” And Phil has no idea what Dan just said, and why it doesn’t feel like rejection, and then there’s warmth against his face, and Dan’s gripping his shoulders and Dan’s kissing him. Dan’s crying, and Phil’s whimpering now, low in his throat, and Phil wraps his arms around Dan, vise-like, needing the confirmation that Dan was here, that Dan-

                “I love you, you asshole,” and Dan’s smiling and crying, and Phil places a kiss on his jaw, then his cheek, and then just starts covering his face, because he _can_ , he’s allowed to, and there’s too many emotions and they curl around each other, needing the reassurance that this is _theirs_.

 

-*-

 

                They end up dragging the blankets back to Dan’s room, stopping every few feet to kiss against the walls. They never stop contact, not even as they settle back onto the bed, and Phil lays over Dan, running his hands over his shoulders and arms and face, and Dan has his arms locked around Phil’s waist, and they break their kisses when one of them can’t breathe, and whisper I love you, I love you, I love you. Phil’s not shaking anymore, and he could do this forever, but Dan’s got circles under his eyes, and so Phil pushes off him and wraps him in his arms and legs, and, face buried in his hair, tells him to _sleep_. And Phil is left holding Dan, and he can feel his heartbeat and his warmth and kiss the top of his head, and it’s so warm and happy, in a way that Phil never thought he’d get, and the weight of the past day suddenly falls and Phil tucks his head against Dan and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Meghan! So, this is my first fic, and I'm not really sure how it is, but I thought you guys might like it. If you have any feedback. I'm new to this, so I'd love some comments.  
> My tumblr is waitingforareneeday, if you'd like to submit a prompt. 
> 
> Have a nice day!


End file.
